Poetical Effusions.

THE NAIAD'S COMPLAINT.

MY native vale! with heighten'd pleasure still I trace thy simple scenes, my partial eye Surveys new beauties each returning spring, Each summer gives delight unfelt before ! Thy fertile vales, thy green knolls gentle rise, Thy rocky hills with blossom'd furze adorn'd, Thy wood-fring'd rivers and thy heathy moors, And the brown mountains which encircle thee, (O'er which the passing clouds for ever cast Their varying shadows) all are dear to me !

Nor greater pleasure could Columbus feel, When first beyond the Trans-Atlantic deep His wandering eye beheld another world, Than I, when in my wand'rings I have found Some sweet sequester'd spot unknown before.­ Dear native vale ! and must thou still remain To future times unnotic'd, and unsung ? While those who first amid thy simple scenes Beheld creation's wonders, and admir'd Nature, still lovely in each diff'rent form, Perhaps in praise of valleys more renown'd, In lofty numbers pen the tuneful verse : Yet here as bright the varied landscape glows : As gay the summer verdure smiles around ; And ev'ry flower that drinks the ev'ning dew, Or spreads its opening bosom to the sun, As sweetly blooms as theirs; but blooms in vain. And thou meand'ring Ken, whose shaded banks Present a pleasing, ever varying scene, Sweet stream, still roll'st unknown and unadmir'd Thy foaming waters to the distant main­ Nor one kind strain salutes them as they flow. For this the pensive nymph, who haunts unseen The most concealed windings of thy course, Sighs as she sits at twilight's silent hour Beneath some aged oak's wide-spreading boughs, And sorrowing pours unheard her sad complaint. One summer's eve, when in the distant west The sun's last glimmering faintly ting'd the sky, Along the margin of my native stream, Where once Concangium's towers o'erlook'd its waves, I musing stray'd­the river roll'd its tide

In soothing murmurs, scarcely heard to flow ; Dark was the entrance of the solemn shade : 'Twas silence round ; irresolute I stood­ When on my wond'ring ear these accents broke, Spoke by the pensive Naiad of the stream­ " Ye tow'ring oaks with circling ivy bound, " Ye shelt'ring banks, and thou fair flow'ry plain, " To you, mute list'ners, I my griefs disclose­ " In vain from yonder misty heights afar " Thro' this sweet vale the sister streams I lead : " Wherever nature form'd a sweeter spot, " I taught their limpid water there to flow, " With rapid current o'er their rocky bed ; " Through many-colour'd woods, whose twilight gloom " The sun-beams scarce can pierce ; in whose thick shades " The summer songsters pour their melody ; " While echo mocks them from her secret cell­ " Through verdant plains with rich luxuriance clad, " And sloping meads whose golden treasures bend, " Their welcome store the reaper's hand to meet ; " Or half encircling some delightful plain, " With songs that lull to quiet and repose ; " Woo nature's rapt admirers there to stray­ " And must I still in vain display their charms, " And plead to hearts insensible and cold !"